


The Lord's Kiss

by a_sinking_star



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Awkward People Being Awkward, Canon Compliant, F/M, Guest Appearances from Minor Original Characters, Pre-Series, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sinking_star/pseuds/a_sinking_star
Summary: Written for the ASOIAF Kink Meme prompt “Catelyn/Ned: In the first moons of their marriage when he’s recently returned to Winterfell and she’s still miffed at him, Catelyn keeps hearing whispers of ‘the lord’s kiss.’ No one ever really defines it, though, so one day, when she’s tired of wondering, she just goes to Ned and asks him about it. After he completely pales, Ned regains his composure enough to ask her if she would like a demonstration.”...and things go from there.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	The Lord's Kiss

There is a fine line between listening and eavesdropping, Catelyn thinks as she lurks—she must admit she is lurking—in the hallway just outside the kitchen storeroom. Not quite a year past, she arrived in Winterfell determined to keep her eyes and ears open, needing to learn everything about these strange people who are now _her_ people—how they dress, how they speak, what songs they sing, what stories they tell, what they expect of her. But she knows full well that there is a whole world of difference between engaging her new maids in conversation or attending to discussions amongst visiting Northern lords and what she is doing now, which is the sort of eavesdropping that would have earned her a spanking from her septa had she attempted it in Riverrun as a girl. ~~~~

“Anyway, I’ve told Torrhen and I’ve _told_ him, he’ll have my maidenhead on our wedding night and not before, but, well, I want to know if he knows what he’s about before I’m tied to him for life, don’t I?” Catelyn thinks the speaker likely is the wide-eyed, very pretty kitchen maid Rina, although she cannot be certain without seeing her. There are at least two other girls in the storeroom with her, both giggling freely.

“Only sensible,” one of the other girls says mock-solemnly, before dissolving into laughter again. The laughing girl is Emma, Catelyn realizes—one of her own personal maids. The thought makes her feel even guiltier for hovering just out of sight by the doorway, but she cannot quite tear herself away. The conversation reminds her painfully of long-ago late nights she and Lysa spent gossiping and giggling and speculating about their future husbands. Now that Catelyn is a woman wed in truth, she has no one to talk to about it—so perhaps it is a little understandable that she wants so badly to keep listening.

When the third girl speaks up, her voice is unfamiliar to Catelyn. “And did he…erm… _measure_ _up_?”

“Well, he’s rather clever with his fingers,” Rina says conspiratorially. “I expected _that._ And he might be a stableboy, but he’s not half bad at giving a girl the Lord’s Kiss!”

“Lucky you,” Emma sighs. Catelyn edges closer in spite of herself, wanting to hear more—but then she hears footsteps just around the corner and flees in the opposite direction. She thinks she would die of embarrassment if anyone were to find her out.

…

_The Lord’s Kiss._ Now that she thinks of it, this is not the first time she has heard the term. Sometimes she watches her lord husband in the training yard with his men from a particularly well-positioned window in the library. Their voices carry up to her more than they likely realize, and once, not long ago, she heard one laughing young soldier commend another on his prowess at the Lord’s Kiss. She had assumed it was a sword-fighting manoeuvre of some sort. Now that she knows better, she cannot stop herself from wondering—what exactly _is_ it? What could provoke such a sigh of jealousy from Emma?

She supposes she could just ask the girl, but that would mean admitting to her eavesdropping, which simply feels unthinkable. But as soon as she dismisses that idea, a bolder one replaces it—she could ask her lord husband. The thought makes her writhe inwardly. Lord Stark has always treated her kindly enough, but since their terrible argument about Jon Snow’s mother he scarcely seems to look at her, and when he speaks to her he is business-like, perfunctory. He still comes to her bed once a week or so—sometimes more often—but when he does, she always gets the feeling that she could be anyone, and it would make little difference to him. She assumes that he thinks of Jon Snow’s mother when he closes his eyes when he is with her. So if the Lord’s Kiss is something scandalous and she shocks him just by asking about it, their relationship can hardly become much more distant than it is now. Emboldened by the thought that she has precious little to lose, she resolves to ask him the next time he visits her at night.

As luck would have it, he comes to her that very evening—something of a surprise, as it has been only two days since the last time, but hardly an unwelcome one. It is early enough that she is still dressed, seated by the fire with her embroidery in hand.

“Come in!” she calls, rising at the sound of his knock—the three firm raps she has come to recognize as uniquely his. He opens the door but does not enter, looking a little awkward at the threshold, and his greeting is both formal and unsmiling.

“Would you like to come in, my lord?” she ventures, and he does, gently nudging the door shut behind him.

“Forgive me, my lady, for visiting you again so soon after…” He trails off, swallows hard, and tries again. “But it is only that I…I hope I am not unwelcome,” he finishes, a little lamely.

“You are most welcome, my lord,” she says quickly. “It is not too soon.” This is only the truth: despite the lack of real tenderness between them, she has come to enjoy their couplings. She likes the weight of him above her, the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. She likes the way his fingers dig into her flesh at the moment of his release. And if he is coming to her for the second time in three days, then surely he must desire her in return. The thought makes her bold.

“I did have a question for you, though, my lord,” she plunges in. “I heard someone speaking of something called the Lord’s Kiss, and I was wondering if—I was hoping that—you could tell me what it is.”

She can feel herself blushing pink, and, not for the first time, she silently curses her colouring.

Her lord husband blinks hard. “Someone has been speaking to you of such things?” he asks. At least he seems more confused than angry.

“No! No. I only overheard one of the kitchen maids, and…I was curious,” she admits.

“I see.” If he had her colouring, his face would be bright red right now, she realizes as she regards him carefully. As it is, he looks a little pale, and the tips of his ears are pink. “It is…it is a term for when a man…” His ears are practically glowing now. “Erm…perhaps, if you wish…I could show you?”

Catelyn thinks of Rina’s delighted gossiping, of Emma’s envious sigh. She might be inexperienced, but she is not a fool. She can make a good guess as to what he is suggesting. “Yes, alright,” she says.

He takes her hands carefully in his own and leads her towards the bed, guiding her to settle back against the furs before releasing his hold on her. She looks up at him expectantly. Soon he is nudging her knees up so that her feet are flat upon the mattress, and then slowly, gently, parting them. Her breath is shallow and a little ragged now as he pushes her skirts up above her waist and peels off her stockings. Finally, finally, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her smallclothes and pulls them down past her ankles before curling his hands around her thighs and bending his head to nose at the thatch of curls between her legs. His breath is hot and damp and she feels herself growing wet at that alone.

She has never in all her life been this exposed. Normally they lie together under the cover of the furs, and while he certainly has caught glimpses of her most intimate places, this is something else altogether. A part of her wants to squirm away, to cover herself. The larger part cannot bear the thought of this ending now.

His tongue is now where his breath had been, as he licks her again and again from nub to opening and back, spreading her wetness. She can tell he is uncertain, and it feels a little strange at first, but then he shift his attention to her nub entirely, his lips and tongue firm, finding a rhythm, and suddenly she feels as though every nerve in her body is alight. “Oh,” she gasps. “ _Oh._ ” And then: “Don’t stop, oh gods, Ned, please, don’t stop,” she breathes, and he is always telling her to call him Ned when they are alone together, but it has never felt right before. And of course he does not stop—of course he slides two fingers into her as his mouth grows more determined, kissing and caressing every inch of her but always returning to those same firm licks that first made her gasp out loud.

It starts deep in her belly—a warmth that becomes a burning, a coil that twists tighter and tighter, until the scratch of Ned’s beard against her inner thighs and the barest scrape of his teeth against her flesh and the ever-increasing frequency of his circling licks over her nub all lead her to glorious release, leaving her boneless and tingling to the tips of her toes.

Ned crawls up the bed and settles down beside her, stroking her hair while she catches her breath. “I’ve never done that before,” he says, his voice low in her ear. “I’ve wanted to, but…well—was it alright?”

She giggles helplessly. “I’m sorry,” she gasps out. “I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that—it was wonderful. More than wonderful. Why have we not done that before?”

“I didn’t know if—if it would be welcome. Or if you would only want to do what is needed to bring a child.”

She turns that one over mentally, unsure of how to respond without seeming too forward. “Would _you_ prefer to do only what might bring a child?”

“No, of course not,” he says quickly. “I—I like you. I like lying with you.” She can’t see his face from this angle, but she imagines his ears going pink again. “Oh, gods, my lady, that is not how I meant to say it—”

This time, she manages to bite back her laughter. It is nice to be reminded, every now and again, that for all he seems so solemn and commanding in public, he is, in reality, scarcely older than she is, and just as uncertain—a boy, really, shy and no doubt lonely. “It’s alright,” she says. “I know what you meant. And—I like it, too.” To underscore her point, she eases open the collar of his shirt and presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. She feels his small hum of contentment more than she hears it. And then she realizes that he is almost painfully hard through his breeches—of course, all this time he has been seeing to her pleasure, and she has given no thought to his own. Well, it is past time for her to rectify that. “Tell me, my lord,” she breathes as she unlaces his breeches, “what would you like best just now? Would you like me to do for you what you just did for me?”

“ _Gods,_ Catelyn,” he groans.

“Was that a yes?”

“ _Yes.”_ His voice is practically a growl now. Finished with his laces, she eases his breeches and smallclothes down his legs and helps him shuck off his shirt before positioning herself on her knees between his legs. “That is—only if you are sure that you wish to—you need not—”

She hums unconcernedly, and cuts off his babbling by placing a light kiss on the tip of him. “Gods, Catelyn,” he says again as she takes him in her mouth. She listens carefully to his breathing as she slides her lips along his cock and moves her tongue over him, determined to find what he likes best. When she sucks in her cheeks around him he gives a long, low moan that delights her just as much as his mouth on her had earlier, so she does it again, harder, and again—

“ _Stop,”_ he gasps. “Not like this—I want to spend inside you—” His words are a thrill all on their own, and she smiles at him as he pulls her up to straddle his hips. He smiles back. His smiles transform his face, she thinks, not for the first time—they make him look as kind and warm and welcoming as she now knows he is in truth. She is still slick from the Lord’s Kiss he gave her earlier, not to mention what they have just been doing, and he slides inside her easily. She sets a hard, fast pace for his benefit, and it is not long before she is filled by the warm, wet rush of his release. _I could love him,_ she thinks at the sight of him, his face flushed, head tipped back, lips parted. _Perhaps I already do._ And that thought, more than anything else they have said or done tonight, is so terrifying that she sets it aside to be dealt with later and focuses instead on his fingers at her sex, circling her nub until a wave of pleasure crests over her once more and she half-collapses onto his chest.

“You are a marvel, my lady,” he says. Reluctantly, she rolls off of him and curls up close against his side instead, while his hand finds her hair again, stroking.

“I won’t be able to look you in the eye tomorrow without blushing,” she murmurs.

“Hmm. Perhaps if we do this more often you will grow used to it,” he suggests, and she gasps out loud, half-delighted, half-scandalized.

“Perhaps I will!” And then she risks one more request: “Would you stay with me tonight? It is rather lonely being bedded and then falling asleep alone.”

He hesitates for only a moment, and she can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “Of course, my lady.” She is half-asleep before he continues: “You know, if there is every anything you wish to have from me, you need only ask.”

“I think you have fulfilled all my wishes for the night, my lord,” she says drowsily. And then she drifts off listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and sleeps more soundly than she has in quite some time.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated.


End file.
